


Snow In January

by TheFrenchPress



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Smut, F/M, Post-Hogwarts, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28666956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFrenchPress/pseuds/TheFrenchPress
Summary: At the annual Order of the Phoenix New Year's Eve party, Hermione has a run-in with her former professor, and finds out that his birthday is only a few days away. Fascinated by him, she decides to try and find Severus the perfect birthday gift.One-shot written for the SS/HG Shipping Fan group 'Birthday Prince' write-in.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 22
Kudos: 192





	Snow In January

Disclaimer: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author.

\--

‘5… 4… 3… 2… 1… HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!’

Hermione Granger took a mouthful of champagne, her arm linked with Ginny Potter’s as they toasted the new year. Both women smiled and laughed at one another before unlinking themselves and embracing.

Another year had passed, and Hermione mused that time felt as though it was slipping through her fingers. She looked around the party, taking in all of the sounds – people toasting, talking loudly and drunkenly in some instances, glasses clinking together, footsteps and dancing. She saw the joy in the faces of the other guests as they laughed and talked and smiled. Times like this were a sweet reminder to not take these moments for granted as they were incredibly fleeting.

She turned back to her friends all standing in her immediate vicinity, and could hear Neville chatting away boisterously to Ginny, when her eyes fell on the only person in the room who was not laughing, smiling or excited to be there. The imposing figure of Severus Snape stood over in the corner, minding his own business, his customary mask of disinterest and boredom in place. He was nursing a glass of what looked like scotch, and was staring into – well, she wasn’t sure if he was people watching or if he simply stared into nothingness, unfazed by the party going on around him.

Since the war had ended nearly twelve years before, Hermione knew he had become more reclusive if it were at all possible. He no longer worked at Hogwarts, nobody in her circle seemed to know what he did for work, let alone where he lived. She only ever saw him once a year at Grimmauld Place for the annual Order of the Phoenix New Year’s Eve party, which he would attend, speak to almost no one, and leave shortly after midnight. She had a feeling that Minerva McGonagall was largely responsible for his yearly attendance and had no doubt that she brow beat him into it every time.

And although she did see him there every year, Hermione had never really taken the time to examine him closely.

He looked thin – but not unhealthily so as he had when he had been teaching at Hogwarts. She noted he wore his hair much longer now, and instead of it hanging in limp, greasy strands in front of his face, it was tied back at the nape of his neck and appeared to be clean and shiny. His attire was all black as it had always been, but the tailor of them was fine and the fabric appeared to be of much nicer quality than anything she had seen him wear before. She watched as his pale, long-fingered hand reached up to the collar of his dark shirt and adjust it slightly, covering the pink scars that she had briefly glimpsed.

She wondered what those scars would look like now that it had been so long since the night he had been attacked by Nagini.

Shaking her head slightly, Hermione took another sip out of her glass. She must be tipsy to be spending that much time observing her former professor. But he looked very dignified, and while not conventionally attractive, there was a something regal about his features – his long aquiline nose, the thin lips she was so used to seeing curled into a sneer, his dark eyes that were so endless one could easily get lost. She flushed. She really must have had too much to drink if she was standing there gawking at Snape and finding him attractive.

She tried to force her attention back to the conversation going on around her, briefly catching the words ‘Quidditch’ and ‘World Cup’ before she realised this was not a dialogue she was all that interested in being a part of. Without even realising it, her gaze drifted back to the tall, dark and brooding man across the room, and she was more than a little surprised that his dark eyes were looking directly at her. His eyes immediately darted away, and she saw his cheek suffuse with a tinge of colour at having been caught staring.

Making a snap decision, she excused herself from the Quidditch conversation and make a beeline straight towards Snape.

‘Hello, professor,’ she greeted politely when she had arrived before him.

He looked down his hooked nose at her coldly. ‘I am no longer a teacher, Miss Granger – to you or anyone else for that matter,’ he said curtly.

‘Well then, what shall I call you?’ she asked.

‘Mr Snape will suffice,’ he grumbled, taking a sip of his drink.

‘Mr Snape…’ she said, testing it out. ‘Hmmm, I’m not very fond of the way that sounds at all. Perhaps Master Snape? You are still a Potions Master after all, are you not?’

He rewarded her with a small smirk. ‘Master Snape will do in a pinch,’ he acquiesced.

‘Well then, _Master_ Snape,’ she began. ‘How are you enjoying the festivities tonight?’

He snorted at the gentle mocking in her tone as she addressed him. ‘It’s loud, the floor is decidedly sticky from a number of beverages being spilled, and I am surrounded by people I would otherwise not associate with the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year,’ he said, gesturing around the room. ‘So you tell me.’

Hermione smiled sympathetically at him then. She normally only really saw the Potters and sometimes Luna and Ron through the year, with the odd dinner at the Burrow or tea with Minerva – so she vaguely understood being overwhelmed by the crowded room. She also preferred quiet rooms, books, brunch because she was really not a morning person, and drinking lots of coffee. Her fingers were perpetually stained with ink from the amount of transcription she had to do for her job, but being surrounded by books and parchment brought her peace.

‘It’s not what I would choose every day, but I don’t mind occasionally indulging my friends and attending the odd function,’ she said with a shrug, moving to stand beside him so she could look out at the room as well. ‘I assume Minerva dragged you here?’

‘You assume correctly,’ he responded, his voice clipped.

‘So, Master Snape, do you have any New Year’s resolutions?’ she asked, a hint of teasing in her tone.

He turned to look at her with a lone raised brow. ‘Do I look like the kind of man who makes arbitrary or inane resolutions with the start of a new year?’ he drawled.

She looked up at him and shook her head with a smile. ‘Not really,’ she answered. ‘It amuses me to see you looking as though someone had stuck something really disgusting smelling under your nose.’

‘You never struck me as someone who would torment another for your own amusement,’ he quipped.

She had to hand it to him – Snape was quick on his feet and had a clever response to everything. Hermione found herself rather enjoying their dry banter. It was the most interesting, if still a little shallow, conversation she had engaged in all night.

‘You don’t really know me all that well,’ she said simply in response.

‘No, I suppose I don’t,’ he replied, taking another sip of his beverage before reaching up to adjust his collar again.

‘So Master Snape, what do you do with yourself these days?’ she asked, genuinely interested to know what he did for work.

‘I am a consultant,’ he answered. ‘I brew and supply to apothecaries as well.’

Hermione smiled enthusiastically. ‘Really? How fascinating!’ she exclaimed. ‘I would love to hear about it if you wouldn’t mind telling me what it’s like. I thought about pursuing a Potion’s mastery, but I already did a double Mastery in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, and I didn’t think I would be able to take on a third specialty, but I do sometime regret that I didn’t go back to it.’

‘I think you actually meant that,’ he said, looking a little surprised for a moment.

‘Of course!’ she replied. ‘I always found Potions fascinating, and you might have been a bastard, but you certainly made Potions very challenging.’

‘Some would not agree that a certain degree of challenge makes the final product all the more satisfying.’

‘I am sure,’ she said quietly.

‘And you, Miss Granger? What is the brain of the Gryffindor trio doing with her two fancy Mastery achievements?’ Snape asked, causing her to flush at the back-handed compliment.

She took a deep breath to steel herself. ‘I work as a Rune Translator and Curse Breaker for Gringotts,’ she answered. ‘I initially worked at the Ministry in the archives when I first graduated from my studies, but the job was not exactly challenging. Gringotts head-hunted me a little over two years ago, and the rest is history.’

‘And do you enjoy your work there?

She nodded. ‘I love it,’ she answered. ‘It’s interesting and varied. No two days are ever the same. I’ve had the opportunity to travel for it as well. I won’t lie and say that the work hasn’t dealt a bit of a blow to my personal life, but I am sadly the consummate workaholic.’

‘Academic pursuits and work are far less disappointing than people,’ Snape observed, and she nodded in agreement.

‘Truer words have never been said.’

She watched as Snape drained the last mouthful from his glass, and he vanished it. He pushed himself away from the wall and he turned towards her, pausing to look at her for a moment.

‘I thank you for the conversation, Miss Granger,’ he said a little woodenly – he was clearly not very used to polite platitudes. ‘It was most… interesting.’

‘Lovely to see you, sir,’ she replied with a nod.

He strode past her then, and she watched him walk out into the hall, presumably to Apparate to his home. Once he was out of sight, she snapped her mind back to reality and the party going on around her. Their conversation had been surprisingly civil, almost friendly. Shaking her head, she sighed. It was silly to try and make more of it than just a polite conversation between two acquaintances. Hermione pushed herself off the wall and wandered over to the bar that had been set up for the occasion, and refilled her glass before taking a solid swig. She wasn’t nearly drunk enough to enjoy the party like everyone else, so she decided she’d need to catch up.

‘Hermione, my dear!’ she heard exclaimed from behind her. ‘Can you give me a hand?’

She spun around to see Minerva with a glass of scotch in her hand holding up a very tipsy, verging on totally drunk, Molly and smirked. She placed her glass down and went to assist her in placing Molly down onto the chaise lounge as she was fading fast. Minerva flashed her a grateful smile before they returned to the bar for their drinks.

‘Thank you,’ the older woman said, knocking back the last of the amber liquid. ‘I rescued her from a dreadfully boring conversation with Xeno Lovegood just now – though I imagine it was said conversation that drove her to drink so much, the poor dear.’

Hermione stifled a giggle at the commentary. Her former professor seemed a little worse for wear herself, but she knew that everyone at the party was either staying the night at Grimmauld Place, or had either a portkey or Floo transport available to return home. She herself planned to Floo to her home ideally before the clock struck one.

‘Did I see you chatting with Severus just before?’ Minerva asked, bring her back to the present.

Hermione nodded. ‘He was alone, and I thought I might do the polite thing and say hello,’ she replied.

‘Good, good,’ Minera said with a pleased smile. ‘That man doesn’t get out nearly enough. I worry for him sometimes – holed up at home alone and always working. He wouldn’t come to this every year if I didn’t drag him here myself.’

‘He alluded to that,’ she replied. ‘I’ve always known him to be a very hard-working person – I think we both prefer quiet spaces, books and academia.’

‘You are quite alike in that respect, yes,’ Minerva said, looking thoughtful.

‘I am not normally one to pry, but do you see him very often?’ Hermione asked, curious.

‘Every so often,’ the Headmistress answered with a nod. ‘He is often quite maudlin and antisocial this time of year, so not normally too much after New Year’s. It is his birthday this month, you see, and Severus does not like being reminded of the start of a new annual trip ‘round the sun.’

His birthday? Hermione frowned in contemplation. She had spent the majority of her schooling, like any teen, blissfully unaware of the fact that their teachers were, in fact, human. Which meant they had birthdays and lives and relationships just like anyone else. She wondered why it was that he disliked his birthday so much. It surely couldn’t have anything to do with getting older – Snape never really struck her as someone vain about those sorts of things.

‘Do you know where he lives?’ Hermione asked suddenly, an idea coming to her.

‘I do,’ the woman before her said slowly, an unasked question in her eyes.

‘I just thought it might be nice to send him a bottle of something for his birthday,’ she explained, unsure if she was even convinced that was the only reason herself.

Minerva looked like she wanted to ask more, but chose not to for some reason. ‘I’ll send it to you on the morrow,’ she said with a sly smile. ‘His birthday is the ninth.’

Hermione nodded, and the conversation was dropped to make way for one about work. They talked for a while longer, before she felt a yawn being ripped from her, indicating it was time to go home. She said her goodbyes, wandering around the room and hugging the few friends that were not passed out or wasted beyond all reason. She saw Harry right before she made her way out of the dining room and he hugged and kissed her cheek, and he seemed to be relatively sober in comparison to many of his wife’s siblings. She threw Floo powder into the grate of the sitting room fireplace and stepped in, calling out to return home.

Later, as she was brushing her teeth before going to bed, she thought to herself what an interesting evening it had turned out to be - and that she had to think about something nice to give Snape for his birthday now.

\--

Three days passed and Hermione was still struggling with what she thought would be a suitable gift for her former professor.

She didn’t really want to address her motivations for going to such lengths. Diving into that might reveal to her something that was probably dangerous – mostly to herself. She had pored over her conversation with the man in her head countless times and had even owled Minerva to ask what kind of scotch or wine he preferred. The Headmistress had replied, of course, but when Hermione thought about it to herself, she thought it was a little impersonal to gift him with liquor. Possibly a little gauche even.

She was already back at work at this stage, and while she loved her job and found it engaging, this puzzle was managing to prevent her from getting any meaningful work done that day. Which was why, on her lunch break, she found herself wandering through Diagon Alley, looking for inspiration. It was rather cold, and the streets were still lined with a layer of snow – they’d had an unusually cold winter so far, and she had been forced to buy herself some new, more insulated winter robes as a result.

She was nearing the end of her allotted break when she happened to spy something in the window of the Quidditch supplies store.

She stood there and stared at it, mentally berating herself for not thinking of it sooner. Hanging in the window display were a series of merchandise for the team currently leading the Quidditch world series that year. There were shirts, robes, hats, gloves and a scarf. The scarf was horrendous – it was brightly coloured in a lurid purple and yellow of the team. But it gave her an idea and made her think back to something she had noticed a few times while she had been observing and conversing with Snape a few nights before – he had kept adjusting his collar to hide his scars.

Hermione felt her stomach flutter with excitement. She had an idea finally, and after work was done for the day, she would set to work on it.

Her day passed rather quickly after that, and her afternoon at work was certainly more productive than the morning had been. When five o’clock came around, she filed what she had done and was out the door faster than she had ever been before, as she was notorious for staying to work late into the evening. She went through the Leaky Cauldron into Muggle London, and used a ‘ _Point Me_ ’ in order to find a craft store in the bustling city.

She went in and found a suitable cashmere yarn that was lovely and soft to the touch, in a green so dark it could almost be confused for black. She bought more than she thought she would need as she was a little out of practice with knitting, and found a quiet Alley from which to Apparate home. She ordered Chinese takeout that night for dinner, and found her knitting needles quickly, shovelling food as she made a start on her project.

She would knit Snape a scarf with the yarn, and imbue it with a charm that would adjust to the outside temperature so that, no matter the season, he would be able to wear it comfortably should he choose to. She knew, even as she made it, that there was a chance that the brooding, snarky man would reject her friendly overture, but she was not deterred.

By the end of the night she was finished with knitting the scarf, and sat back and stared at it, rather pleased with her efforts.

All of the practice she had gotten in knitting for the House Elves at Hogwarts, and little items of clothing for Harry and Ginny’s children, had come in handy. The scarf before her was simple, but delicate, and she had used only the nicest stiches she knew to bring it together. It was long enough that he should be able to wrap it twice around his neck with plenty left to hang down on either side. She was almost tempted to make herself a matching one as the yarn was so soft, but she thought better of it for the time-being.

She would need to get a small box and some gift wrap, but Hermione was pleased. And in a few days she would give him the scarf and thank him for the numerous times he had saved her and her friends’ arses over the years, and that would be it – she would leave him alone after that.

At least, this was what she told herself as she curled up in bed and fell asleep, dreaming of dark eyes and pale hands.

\--

The snowfall beyond the glass pane of the window swirled softly through the air before joining those flakes that had already completed their journey to the ground.

A fire kept the room within warm and lit with a golden amber light, and Severus sat before it in his armchair contemplating. It was the ninth of January, and he had no idea how his blasted birthday had managed to sneak up on him so quickly that year. He’d awoken to a rather large barn owl scratching against the window in his bedroom that morning, and crawled out of bed to open it and accept the parcel that it bore. He could see Minerva McGonagall’s scrawl on the packaging and rolled his eyes.

She always persisted in celebrating his birth for reasons unknown to him. He hated being reminded of this day – always had. And no amount of good will and cheer from his years teaching with all of his colleagues making a big deal of it would change that. He’d opened it to find a rather nice bottle of aged single-malt and knew that it would have cost a pretty penny, so -in spite of himself- he would keep it and share it with her when she no doubt would drop by and visit from time-to-time through the year.

That day was like any other Friday to him – he read his correspondences as he took his breakfast, spent the first half of the day brewing, the second half bottling, labelling, and packaging it all up before making deliveries. When he returned home, he had a few letters to write in response to questions from the clients he was currently doing consultation work for. He was finished with everything a little after five o’clock, and had come into the sitting room from the door that adjoined to his office to sit by the fire with a glass of scotch before he’d eat dinner.

He was a man of routine, and with very little else on in his life outside of work, writing the odd article for an academic journal, and reading.

He didn’t want anything else – anything more would complicate his peaceful existence. After the war had ended and he had somehow found himself still alive in a hospital bed in St. Mungo’s, Severus had made the executive decision to live out his life away from others. He was free from his two masters and had no one to answer to but himself. It was as he had always wanted. People brought drama and complications – and he had thought to himself that he’d had quite enough of all that for one lifetime.

That was, of course, until just over a week earlier when he had been approached by one Hermione Granger at the Order of the Phoenix New Year’s Eve party.

He had seen her across the room, smiling and laughing with her friends, and for the first time he had not seen his former student as a bushy-haired and annoying little know-it-all. She had grown up some time over the years and he hadn’t noticed it because he hadn’t wanted to. But there she had stood, wearing an elegant burgundy dress that had fallen to her knees, and her curls pulled back and piled onto her head, revealing a graceful neck and her bare shoulders. She had a smattering of soft freckles across her nose, and she wore almost no makeup – but she had been striking, and he had caught himself staring at her.

He was even more surprised when she had looked back at him, and he remembered a moment of embarrassment at having been caught out. But then she had approached him and had spoken to him like he was anyone else – even daring to tease him. She was interesting and intelligent, and he recalled the way that she had smelled of juniper, patchouli, leather and ink. She wasn’t a girl any longer, and the thought had struck him with such force that he had fled.

And so there he sat, on the anniversary of his birth, alone, just as he had carefully constructed with the walls he put up around himself.

Sighing heavily, he knocked back the last mouthful in his glass and pulled himself out of the armchair, walking the short way down the hall to his kitchen. He’d prepared a roast earlier that day and it was still in the oven, cooking away. He had prepared vegetables and gravy also, and buttered rolls that would all be leftovers which he planned to eat throughout the week for lunch. Just as he checked the temperature of his roast, and found it to be cooked well enough, he heard the front doorbell ring. Frowning, he left the roast to rest on the kitchen bench and made his way to the door, wondering who would dare to interrupt his solitude.

He paused and opened the door to come face-to-face with the curly-haired subject of his thoughts of only a few minutes earlier.

Hermione Granger’s cheeks were pink from the cold, and her curls were loose and flowing around her from underneath a knitted beanie. He could see her breath coming out in puffs in the frigid air of his doorstep. But she was smiling, and she looked quite pretty in her winter robes. He mentally kicked himself for allowing the thoughts into his mind. Granger was an annoying swot and an uninvited guest.

‘Happy Birthday, Master Snape,’ she said cheerfully.

He stared at her, stunned, before he realised he was gawking at her in his doorway. ‘Why are you here, Miss Granger?’ he asked, ignoring her previous sentiment.

‘To wish you a Happy Birthday,’ she answered simply, reaching into the deep pocket of her robes and withdrawing a long, flat box that appeared to be very carefully gift-wrapped. ‘And to give you this.’

She held the box out to him with both hands, looking up at him with an earnest expression, entreating him to take the proffered box. 

He stared at it, his lips pinched together thinly. Nobody other than Minerva, and Albus when he’d been alive, had ever given him a gift before – let alone hand delivered it to his door. He wondered for a second how she had come to find him, but almost immediately realised the Headmistress was to blame on that front. He made a mental note to scold her for it later. The woman was becoming far too meddlesome in her old age.

He was interrupted from his thoughts when he felt the box being pressed into his hand and snapped his eyes back up to Granger’s face.

‘Please, sir,’ she said quietly. ‘Take it, and accept my thanks for the many things you did over the years to prevent me and my reckless friends for getting ourselves killed.’

He drew in a sharp breath at her words, and she used his momentary state of distraction to her advantage, quickly shoving the present the rest of the way into his hands. Cheeky, opportunistic witch.

‘I don’t want to keep you from your night,’ she said to him with a smile that made her eyes dance with warmth. ‘I’ll just get out of your hair now, but I hope you will enjoy the gift.’

He watched as she turned to leave and walk down the path to the picket fence that surrounded his property. For some reason he felt compelled to stop her, and he strode out of the house, his long legs carrying him to catch up with her quickly. He reached out the hand not holding the box, and gently touched her shoulder, and she spun around to face him, her expression one of confusion. He wasn’t surprised – his behaviour was none too familiar even to himself.

‘Miss Granger,’ he murmured. ‘If you have no other plans, perhaps you could stay for dinner?’

The words were out of his mouth before he had even realised he’d said them. He gave himself another mental kick. What was he thinking, inviting her to dine with him? But the offer was out there, and he watched as her expression changed from one of shock to that of pleasant surprise. She smiled and nodded at him.

‘Okay,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘I – I don’t really have plans. I was just going to get takeout and destroy my brain with an episode of EastEnders before passing out in front of the telly.’

He couldn’t contain the small quirk of his lips into a smirk at her mention of the trashy Muggle television show. He was familiar with the show – a staple in many British households for many years. It was a terrible soap opera, and he found it a little amusing that she indulged in it, however guiltily if the blush that stole across her cheeks then was any indication.

‘Come inside,’ he said, gesturing up to the open front door. ‘If we stand out here much longer we might freeze.’

She followed him back up the path, and once they were inside and the door was closed behind them, shutting out the bitter cold, he took her robes, hat and scarf, hanging them up in the coat closet by the front door. She stood in the front hall nervously clasping her hands together and looking around. He took her in for a moment, noting that she was still wearing her work attire for the day – a white button-down blouse with delicate looking pearl buttons, a grey business-like skirt, black stockings, and boots.

Severus could hardly remember the last time a woman had been in this house. When the war had ended and he had regained his life, the first thing he had done was sell his childhood home in Spinner’s End. It had sold for a lot more than he had expected given its dilapidated state, but the realtor had explained that they intended to knock it down to make way for a new row of townhouses in the area. He hadn’t cared – good riddance to bad rubbish was his only thought.

After he had bought this home, he’d only once brought a woman there, with the exception of Minerva. She had been a muggle he’d met in a bar when he’d first started to build his new life, and he had been exceptionally drunk and feeling sorry for himself that night. They’d drunkenly slept together and, the next morning, filled with regret, he had obliviated her memories of him after Apparating her to the address on her driver’s license.

That had been nearly ten years ago, and now he stood awkwardly with one of his former students -one that he was finding himself very attracted to- and they were about to eat dinner together in a surreal turn of events he could never have predicted.

‘I made roast,’ he said simply, breaking the awkward silence that had drawn out between them.

‘It smells incredible,’ she replied.

‘The kitchen is through here,’ he muttered, walking in the direction of the room, and assuming she would follow him.

Once in the room, he busied himself with slicing the roast, and pulled a second dinner setting from the cupboards. He levitated all of the food he had prepared to the small kitchen table, and manually set a place for her at the table across from his. He made a vague gesture for her to sit, and she did so across from him with a nervous smile.

‘This looks wonderful,’ she said as they began to serve themselves. ‘It must have taken you hours to prepare all of this.’

He inclined his head slightly. ‘I learned to cook when I was young – my father forbade the use of magic to prepare meals, so my mother taught me to do it the Muggle way.’

Severus wondered as soon as he had spoken why he had so readily offered up that information about his past. What on earth was happening to him? He thought he must be losing control of his mental faculties.

‘I learned how to cook from my mother too,’ she said, interrupting his mental self-flagellation. ‘I don’t really cook as much now because I often stay late at work, but doing it all without magic is a lot more satisfying to me.’

He looked up at her in surprise. ‘I often forget that you had a non-magical upbringing,’ he said with a smirk. ‘Your parents must have found your being a witch quite the surprise.’

‘Yes and no,’ she replied. ‘I started making inexplicable things happen when I was a toddler, and it all sort of spiralled from there – when I got my Hogwarts letter I think they were relieved to be honest. It meant I wasn’t possessed, and they weren’t crazy.’

They exchanged polite conversation while they ate and Severus listened as she spoke about her family, her work – which he found very interesting – and her friends. She wasn’t overly chatty, but her voice filled the silence in the room that he left, given that he was less comfortable with idle chit-chat. She asked him about his work, and he gave succinct answers where he could – some of his consulting work was private and he wasn’t about to go spilling his clients’ information. At some point, he opened a bottle of wine because he was anxious having her there in his home, and after they ate, he tidied the kitchen and leftovers with a quick spell, and they wordlessly retired to his sitting room with their glasses.

She sat on the lounge opposite his usual armchair, the fire casting light and shadows on her curls that made them look like golden silk. He was absorbed with her. She was lovely, and intelligent, and there was something about her uninhibited kindness that drew him to her.

‘You still haven’t opened the gift,’ she said, interrupting his dangerous line of thought.

He held up a hand, summoning it from the kitchen where he had left it, and it glided into the room and into his hand. He looked at it wordlessly. It was wrapped very carefully with a dark charcoal paper with little threads of gold shot through it, and a thick white ribbon that she had tied into a bow. He knew she must have done it herself – she was always very meticulous in the time he had known her as a student.

He tugged the bow and the ribbon slid off easily, and with great care he used a spell to slice through the tape without ruining the wrapping paper. Inside was a simple white box and, as he went to lift the lid, he glanced up at her and saw that she was anxiously twisting her fingers in her lap, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. He opened the box, and his eyes widened at what lay inside.

It was a scarf.

A very soft, dark green -almost black- scarf. He lifted it out of the box, discarding the wrapping on the coffee table in front of him, and allowed his thumb to stroke the fabric. It was very well crafted and looked to have been handmade – the stitching was complicated and delicate, but it was sturdy and would be a fine scarf to ward off the cold. And then it struck him – she must have made this scarf for him with her own two hands. He snapped his head up sharply to look at her.

‘You made this,’ he stated bluntly.

‘I – yes,’ she answered.

He heard the slight catch in her voice. Why was she so nervous? Why would she make him such a lovely and thoughtful gift?

‘Why?’ he asked, still stunned and a little lost for words.

‘It’s your birthday,’ she answered. ‘People deserve to get gifts on their birthday.’

He frowned and shook his head. ‘But why now? Why this birthday? Why today?’

He was seeking an ulterior motive. Pretty witches did not invite themselves to his house to give him thoughtful birthday gifts. It had never happened before now, and he was struggling to wrap his head around what she could possibly seek to achieve with this gift.

‘To thank you –‘ she began.

He held up a hand to halt her. ‘You said that at the door earlier,’ he snapped. ‘The truth,’ he demanded imperiously. ‘Now, Miss Granger.’

She looked at him, stunned, but quickly regained her footing and bit her bottom lip again. He resisted the urge to cross the room and pull her lip from her between her teeth. Her innocuous idiosyncrasies were making him want to do things that he would never normally do under ordinary circumstances, like suck that bottom lip into his mouth. It was such a disconcerting thought to him, and he tried to stamp it down for examination later.

‘I…well, our conversation at New Year’s was fascinating,’ she said finally, breaking the tension. ‘I found you, interesting – the most interesting person in the room actually. I guess I just wanted an excuse to see you again before December.’

He was shocked by her candour. Did she even know what she was saying? ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, girl?’ he asked gruffly.

She blinked, and then frowned at him. ‘Excuse me?’ she replied indignantly.

‘It is a simple question, Miss Granger,’ he drawled. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses? You must have, if you think for one moment I would believe you had no ulterior motive to coming here tonight just to see me again and give me this, admittedly lovely, scarf.’

He watched as her indignation edged over into full-blown outrage. There was the Hermione Granger he had known for all those years – a fiery little shrew who would bully and bash those around her into submission with words alone.

‘Now, listen here, you cantankerous old bastard,’ she began, her annoyance practically coming off her in waves. ‘I am not the sort of person who barges into her former professor’s house with some sort of nefarious plot. Please give me more credit than that. I was being honest when I said I just wanted to see you again and, up until this point, we were both getting along and having a pleasant conversation, so I don’t really know why you think that a hand-knitted scarf changes anything in that regard. Not everyone is out to get you, Severus Snape.’

She was on the edge of her seat on the lounge as she berated him, and he could see her chest was heaving a little now from her outburst. Her brown eyes were flashing like molten honey, and somehow her curls had taken on an almost electric charge while she had spoken. She was utterly captivating – and he felt a distinct and familiar gnawing in his gut. She really was just there to spend time with him, and he felt both foolish for his assumption, and confused by her desire to see him again.

‘Why?’ he asked, unable to stop the word from tumbling out of his mouth.

‘Is it so far-fetched that someone like me might find you interesting and attractive and want to spend time getting to know you?’

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, hardly believing his ears. ‘Attractive?’

She nodded, her cheeks suffusing with colour. ‘Attractive,’ she whispered. ‘And intelligent, and a great many other things that draw me to you – that make me want to know you.’

He felt that pit in his stomach travel lower, and soon found himself becoming aroused. This beautiful and accomplished woman had managed to find something about the way he looked to enjoy, and there was something about that which both scared and excited him. He knew what he looked like: his skin was pale, his teeth were crooked, he had thin lips and a larger than average nose. He had often cursed the way he looked growing up, but as he had gotten older, he had come to just accept it for what it was. He’d still had the occasional casual encounter with women, and none of them had seemed too bothered by his looks. But he’d never once had anyone tell him that they found his looks to be appealing – no one until now.

‘Miss Granger –‘ he began, but she held up a hand to cut him off.

‘I think I’d prefer that you call me Hermione, if it’s all the same to you,’ she informed him, frankly.

‘Hermione…’ he said, testing out the name – he preferred the way it rolled off his tongue as well, if he was being honest with himself.

‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to call you Severus,’ she said.

‘I suppose I should extend that liberty to you,’ he smirked.

‘You don’t seem all that bothered by the fact that I said I find you attractive,’ she pressed.

He snorted at her self-assurance. ‘It is… not unwelcome knowledge,’ he replied.

He saw her eyes flash with something, and she stood up from the lounge suddenly, placing her wine glass down on the coffee table and walking over to him. He craned his neck to look up at her as she hovered close to him without touching. Her small hand was on his shoulder then, and he could feel it searing through him. It had been quite some time since he had been set alight by a simple touch in this way.

‘Would it be unwelcome if I were to kiss you right now?’ she asked, breathlessly.

He felt a lump form in his throat and tried to swallow it down. ‘I suppose I could be convinced to engage in such an experiment,’ he answered, his voice sounding foreign to him.

‘Good,’ she said, and, without any further preamble, she leaned down the rest of the way, her hands on both of his shoulders, and pressed her lips to his.

Her lips were soft, plump and warm, if a little chapped from her lip biting habit. They moved innocently and gently over his, not moving to deepen the kiss, but not pulling away. He heard a soft, contented sigh, and the noise tipped him over the edge. He traced his tongue over her lower lip as he had wanted to earlier, and she immediately parted for him. He dipped his tongue in a little, very slowly exploring just inside her mouth. He could feel himself becoming dizzy with his growing desire for her.

Just as he was concerned that he might pass out from a lack of oxygen, Hermione pulled back from him and gave him a small smile.

‘Well now, that was a very nice kiss,’ she said with a cheeky grin.

He felt the corner of one side of his mouth tug upwards in a lopsided smile. ‘Only nice?’

Her amber eyes dilated then so that only a small ring of golden brown remained – she was aroused, and he had caused it. Without asking for permission a second time, she leaned back in and latched her mouth to his, immediately seeking entrance with her warm, wet little tongue. He groaned at her eagerness and parted his lips to allow her to explore. She tasted sweet and her tongue carried a little of the flavour of the wine they had imbibed. He wondered briefly if perhaps she was drunk, but she’d only had one glass with dinner, and their glasses on the coffee table were still near full.

When she pulled back to regain her breath that time, her lips were decidedly puffy, and glistened with their combined saliva, and her breath came in short pants. He reached out to put a hand on her hip and she didn’t protest, so he used it to drag her towards him, and soon her skirt was bunched up her legs and she was straddling his lap. He was acutely aware of the fact that sitting this way she would be able to feel just how excited her kisses had made him, but she didn’t seem at all bothered by it.

He leaned towards her and stole another sublime kiss, and her hands made their way into his long tresses, her fingers gentle as they weaved through the hair at his temples.

His hands moved as if of their own accord up to her waist, a thumb brushing against the underside of her breast above the shirt and bra that covered it. She gasped and moaned into his mouth at this, and he smiled into their kiss and repeated the action. She arched into his touch, so he moved his hands to cup both breasts over her clothes, giving them a gentle squeeze. He felt her break their kiss and felt bereft for a moment before he realised her hands were at the buttons of her blouse and she was plucking them open slowly.

His eyes widened as she undid the final one and pulled the fabric from the waist of her skirt, and pealed it back and off to reveal a lacy black bra. He wondered briefly if she always wore such pretty lingerie and made a mental note to ask her about that later. In the meantime, he intended to focus on the pert, pretty little lace covered breasts before him. She didn’t have overly large breasts, but there was a nice handful and his fingers itched to touch them.

‘Don’t be shy,’ she whispered huskily, grasping his hand and pressing it against her.

He flexed his fingers around them experimentally and, at her approving moan, his other hand joined, and he sought out her nipples beneath the flimsy lace and tweaked them with his thumbs firmly. She arched into them, her breath catching. Never in a million years would he have expected to have a half-naked Hermione Granger in his lap that night, looking like a seductive siren in her flimsy lingerie and elegant work attire. But he wasn’t going to complain.

Wanting more contact, he reached behind her back with one hand and flicked the clasps of her bra open, dragging the bit of fabric off her and discarding it somewhere on the floor.

Her nipples were dusky rose in colour, and were perfect little berries to top off the delightful mounds of her creamy breasts. Severus let his fingers graze one, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Such sensitive little buds. Smirking, he leaned forward then, and without further ado, took one of those delightful little nipples into his mouth, laving it with his tongue before suckling gently. His hand gently tweaked and played with the other breast, and he could feel her rocking against him. His cock was straining against the placket of his pants, and her movements caused him to moan against her.

After worshipping one of her breasts entirely, he switched to the other and he felt her fingers weave into his hair encouragingly. Once he had paid it due attention, he let his lips travel a flaming path up her sternum to her neck, where he gently bit and soothed a spot near her ear with his tongue. Pulling back a little, he admired just how dishevelled and sensual she looked, her eyes dark, curls wild, and pretty breasts heaving a little with each breath. She was divine, and he could hardly believe she was there, the heat of her arousal rubbing against his erection.

Severus looked at her in surprise as her fingers went to work on the buttons of his shirt. He always had it buttoned to the top to hide his scars from view, even at home. He felt his breath hitch in his throat anxiously, wondering if she would be repulsed by what she saw. But the disgust never came, and she pulled the tails of his shirt out of his pants and pushed the fabric aside, appraising his chest with a look of admiration and hunger still burning in her eyes. Her fingers danced over his skin and lightly stroked the scar. It had faded some over the years, but was still stark against his pale skin.

She moved on and her fingertips gently ran through the small amount of fine hair on his chest before passing over his nipples, causing a small, strangled sound to escape him. She smiled at that before sweeping her hair out of the way and leaning forward to gently bite right above his right nipple, soothing it with a sweep of her tongue.

‘Sweet Circe,’ he swore under his breath, drawing a chuckle from her.

‘Circe has nothing to do with what is about to happen,’ she said, her voice filled with promise.

‘And what are we about to do, Hermione?’ he asked, his voice low, washing over her like smooth silk.

‘Well, as I am currently in a state of undress sitting on your very evident interest, I rather think we are about to fuck,’ she murmured, her lips against his ear.

He groaned at how forthcoming she was, whispering those suggestive words into his ear so hotly. His hands -which had been gently gripping her waist- slid down to her hips, and he held her there, before grinding himself up into her, taking her by surprise. She smiled wickedly, and pulled away, sliding out of his lap and onto her knees before him. His eyes widened as her hands went to the buttons of his trousers and swiftly undid them, reaching in and pulling down his undergarments in order to free his throbbing cock.

‘My, my,’ she said, admiring his member with lustful eyes. ‘I wish I had known sooner just what you looked like under all those layers of black. I might have tried to jump you much sooner if I did.’

And then her mouth was on him and her tongue was swirling around the tip of his member before she plunged down and sucked his cock – hard. It was all he could do to not thrust into her mouth deeper. His knuckles were turning white from the grip he had on the arms of his chair. Her mouth was heaven, and as she sucked, licked and stroked his cock with equal skill and enthusiasm, he wondered to himself why he had ever thought for a moment to deny his attraction to her.

He grasped her shoulders then and pushed her back, unable to take any more of her teasing lest he come in her mouth like an overeager schoolboy. He hauled her back up and crushed his mouth to hers in a demanding kiss that was all lips, tongue and gently nipping teeth. He was like a man starved, and she was the feast he had been denied his whole life.

He tore his mouth from hers and stood up from the armchair, not caring a whit that his clothes were halfway off him, and pulled her close, Apparating them into his bedroom upstairs. The room was very dimly lit, but with a wave of his hand, there was a little more light. He removed his shirt and tossed it aside carelessly, and watched as she unzipped the side of her skirt and wriggled out of it. She reached up to begin removing her stockings, but he held out a hand to stop her, grasping the top of them himself, and lowering himself to the ground on his knees to peel them off her, taking her lacy knickers with them. She put her hand on his shoulder as she stepped out of the fabric and her shoes, and his gaze was drawn to the crux of her legs.

Severus guided her to the edge of his bed, nudging for her to sit before grasping both of her knees and spreading them apart.

She gasped as the cool air hit her heated flesh, and he heard himself groan in appreciation of what he saw. She was partially shaved, and what little pubic hair there was neatly trimmed, displaying her glistening lower lips and the little pink bundle of nerves peeking out at the top, distended slightly from their mutual desire. His nostrils flared slightly, and without waiting to ask permission, he buried his face between her thighs and proceeded to lick her. He watched as she threw her head back, her hips arching upwards. He held them steady with his hands, lapping and suckling and driving her to the brink. Just as he could feel her begin to spiral, he pulled back and stood up, spelling away his remaining clothes and thrusting into her to the hilt.

‘Merlin’s balls,’ he ground out as her tight walls clenched around him.

She reached up and grasped the back of his neck, pulling his lips to hers for a frenzied kiss as he began to thrust into her, pulling back almost all the way out before slamming in. Her legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper. She was so tight and hot and, as he drove into her, there was nothing but heavy breathing, soft moans, and the slap of skin against skin. He could feel a tingle begin in his balls, and he reached down between them to thumb against her clit, driving her to come apart in his arms. Her body throbbed and clenched around him, milking out his own fiery orgasm and he came with a shout, his hips snapping into hers slowly as he spent himself within her.

He paused for a moment, realising he had not cast a contraception charm and she registered the panic in his eyes and smiled reassuringly.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said with a breathy laugh. ‘I’m on the Muggle pill.’

He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank fuck,’ he muttered, withdrawing from her and pulling himself up, casting a wandless cleansing charm over them as he did so.

He looked around and saw the majority of their clothes scattered around the room and smirked before turning back to her. She shrugged and smiled, sitting there nude on the edge of his bed. Now that they weren’t engaged in amorous activities, it was getting rather cold. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was after shagging one of his former students, who he was finding incredibly appealing with her hair mussed and lips decidedly puffy from their ministrations, but he didn’t want her to leave.

‘How about we sidestep any awkwardness, and I just invite myself to stay tonight and we can figure anything else out tomorrow?’ she suggested, breaking the silence.

‘That sounds agreeable,’ he nodded, holding out a hand towards her.

He lifted her into a standing position, peeled back the thick, warm bed clothes, and together they slid under the covers. She slotted herself against him, and he lifted his arm around her to hold her there, registering that they fit together alarmingly well. Deciding that he didn’t want to overthink it, he closed his eyes and just enjoyed the feeling of having a warm, beautiful woman in his arms. Her fingers danced up his shoulder, trailing up to his chin, turning his face gently to look at hers.

‘Happy birthday, Severus,’ she whispered, before leaning up and capturing his lips in a sweet kiss.

And for once he agreed, it was a happy day indeed.

\--

The walkway from the park to Grimmauld Place was snowy and frigid, and it looked as though it had been days since the last time it had been cleared by the council snow ploughs.

Hermione kept a brisk pace, trying to make her way to the house. Her tall, dark, and looming companion kept up with her, his long legs carrying him along with ease. She was often miffed by how quickly Severus could carry himself from place to place, envying his long stride. Meanwhile, he was grumbling to himself as they walked, complaining of the cold, the snow and him having to be out that night, but she had extracted a promise to go from him, and he was not one to back out of a promise he had made.

As she walked alongside him, her eye caught the ring glittering on her left hand in the light of the streetlamps as her arms swung up while she walked. He had proposed to her just two nights before, and she had yet to tell any of her friends about it. She had a feeling that at least three of the women in that house were going to lose it when they found out, and she’d said as much to her lover. He’d tried to use it as an excuse to weasel out of the party, but she’d kissed him and he’d snuck his hand up her shirt, and then they had stopped talking for a while after that.

She climbed the stairs upon reaching the house, but paused at the door when she realised that he hadn’t followed her. He stood at the bottom looking sullen, his long dark hair a mess, and the scarf she had made for his birthday wrapped snuggly around his neck.

‘Come on,’ she beckoned. ‘The sooner we go in, the sooner it will be over, and then we can go home. I’ll even make it worth your while.’

He smirked at her suggestive tone. ‘Fine, witch,’ he grumbled. ‘I thought I would be done with this nonsense when Minerva found out about us.’

‘Don’t fuss,’ she said cheerfully, reaching up to kiss his lips light when he joined her at the front door.

‘Merlin, save me from bossy little Gryffindors,’ he mumbled as they walked through the front door.

Hermione laughed softly, linking her arm through his as they entered the house – everything was as it should be.

\--

Fin.

\--

A/N – This little tale was written in honour of Severus’s 61st Birthday for the Birthday Prince write-in challenge on the SS/HG Shipping Fan Group. I mostly stuck to theme, but took my own liberties with it. Thank you to my dear friend and beta, TheFauxMe, for fixing up all my mistakes.


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